


The Empty Places

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Series: Raise Me Up [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, empty churches, little mother, nearly gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a memory Dean lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Empty Places

There was a memory lost to Dean. He'd been five, maybe six. All his memories from that age were tinged with the pain in his back and an ache in his arms from supporting the monkey cling weight of Sammy. No matter what Dad said, Sammy knew what had been lost in the fire and he hung on to Dean as if he too would disappear into an orange inferno at a moment's notice. 

The night of the lost memory, Sammy had held with chubby fists and his small brow folded up in thoughtful wrinkles. They were safe for the time being even if the Gothic arch of the gutted cathedral made Dean feel impossibly small. He talked low to Sammy, even the small whisper catapulted around the high walls and returning to him dangerously loud. 

"Dee." Sam replied authoritatively, one hand too hard in Dean's hair. 

"Yeah, Sammy." Dean untangled the grasping hand, gently, always gently so that Sammy wouldn't cry. "That's me." 

John had left them here, eyes frantic and fingers rapidly beating against the steering wheel, 

"I'll be back in an hour." 

The sun had been high then. Dean didn't have a watch, but he could see the light dying all around them. It would be cold soon. Dad had draped his coat around Dean's shoulders before he left ad it it was big enough to wrap around them both. They'd be warm enough. Especially if Sam fell asleep soon, the heavy hot weight of him would seep through Dean's thin t-shirt. 

The church had probably been in use until only a few years ago. The stained glass windows were mostly intact, along with the alter and a few chipped statues. Dean made up stories for Sammy about the statues. He recognized only Mary and Jesus, basics tangled and confused from a few thwarted attempts at church in the months before the fire. 

"She's watching out for us." Dean explained, quiet, so quiet as if wolves circled outside, waiting for confirmation of the tender meat just inside. "Mommy and Mother Mary." 

Sammy blinked heavily, understanding none if it probably. It was hard to tell with Sammy sometimes. He listened to everything and sometimes, Dean thought he got more of it than Dad believed. Like Sammy was just saving all that information up in his too big head and waiting for his chance. 

Dean gave up talking when his throat started to hurt and eased into a hum instead. Hey, Jude. It was easy to remembered. 

"Na na." Sammy bobbed his head a few times, a yawn showing off the few new teeth he'd attained with a lot of fuss over the last month. The teeth would soon free Dean from the tyranny of bottles and present a whole new host of problems. The counting of pennies was still in front of them then, still a line Dean hadn't had to cross. For now, Dad provided formula in warmed bottles and Dean held them to Sam's hungry lips. 

Most of the pews of the church had been torn away, leaving behind stumps in the floor that threated to trip Dean up if he wasn't careful. Right in front of the alter, two remained, stiff backed and robbed of their cushioning. Dean didn't like the open space, but he didn't want to sit on the freezing floor either. He hovered a while, his arms starting to shake with Sammy's weight. 

"Dee." Sammy said, very seriously. 

"Yeah. I know." 

It wasn't so bad in the far corner of the pew. He could huddle there, Dad's jacket enclosing them both, zipped up until only Sammy's golden head peeked out of the top. At first Sammy whined and tried to escape, but a day of travel with no naps caught up with him at last and he went blessedly limp. 

Maybe it was mean, but Dean loved Sammy the best when he was sleeping. The golden curve of his eyelashes against his chubby cheeks, the soft wheeze of his breath and the way his fists clung hard to Dean's t-shirt swelled Dean with pride and affection. Sammy, more than Dad and maybe even more then Mom, needed him. Trusted him. 

"Night." Dean whispered and out of habit glanced around him before touching his lips to Sam's forehead. It was a stupid thing to do. He couldn't do it like Mom had no matter what, infusing it with her Colgate and lavender scent. He did it anyway. 

Dean thought Sammy deserved to have him try.

Sam deserved a lot of things. Like getting a real night's sleep even if they were stuck in a creepy building while they waited for Dad to finish his important work and come to get them. Maybe he'd be back for breakfast and let Dean have pancakes. 

The cathedral multiplied Sammy's tiny wheezing breaths to horror movie wheezes. The stained glass bleeding color onto the floor in the weakening light. Dean rubbed his cheek against the leather collar of the jacket, pretending he was safe in its embrace. 

Every tiny whistle of the wind made a racket, yet Dean never heard a single footstep. One minute he was alone with his brother and the next, there was a man sitting in the other pew. The man wasn't looking at Dean, so Dean curled up smaller around Sam, trying to make them both invisible in the shadows. 

The man didn't look dangerous exactly. He was wearing a suit and a long coat. His hair was all messed up like Dean's was when he first woke up sometimes. The man sat very straight with his hands clasped loosely in his lap and his eyes closed. 

Even if the man didn't intend them harm, harm could be caused. The question "Where are your parents?" never led to anything good. 

"Do you believe in God?" The man asked and at first Dean thought he was just talking to himself, but the man turned and his eyes were bright in the darkness, trained on Dean's face. The stare pinned him there. There was a knife in Dean's pocket. He curled his hand hand around it. 

"I dunno." He said when the man wouldn't look away. 

"I've often wondered if you did. Before." The man had a deep, scratched up voice. It reminded Dean a little of Dad, a little of Bobby and a little exhausted waitresses that gave extra treats to sleepy children in the wee hours of the morning. "Sam did. But you..." 

"Who are you?" Dean demanded. Or at least tried to demand. It came out a little shaky. 

"I'm your friend." The man said and it didn't sound creepy the way it did when cops insisted on the same thing. It was a fact, baldy stated. "Or I was. Will be. The verbs become complicated." 

"I don't know you." 

"You will, Dean." The man sighed, the kind of sigh Dad heaved when he thought Dean had gotten too far away to hear. "I don't now why I came here. I reached back to take refuge. I didn't expect to find you." 

"Oh." Dean licked his cracked lips. "What were you trying to find?" 

"Forgiveness. Absolution. My Father." The man gave a small shrug, almost lost in the dark. " A night's rest." 

"I couldn't sleep here." Dean rubbed Sammy's back, willing him to stay asleep, stay quiet, stay safe. 

"Why not?" 

"Are you kidding?" Dean snorted. "Look at this place." 

The man did look around, slow and unblinking. 

"Is it the dark?" 

"I'm not afraid of the dark!" Dean sputtered. "It's just sort of...empty. And anyone could come in." 

"You should sleep though. Your father might not return for some hours." 

"You know my Dad?" 

"I know of him." 

"Are you a monster?" Dean gripped his knife tighter. 

"No, Dean." The man sounded very tried. "I'm just someone who cares for you." 

"But I don't know you." 

"You will." 

"I don't believe you." Dean declared. "I think you should leave me alone." 

"You were born on January 24, 1979, to John and Mary Winchester. You tripped over a crack on the sidewalk a few months ago, scarring the underside of your chin. It won't linger, not visibly, but right now you can probably still feel it. You love arcade games, but you don't play them because you save the quarters your father gives you to buy Sam small comforts. You kissed a girl on the cheek at your last school because she gave you a piece of gum when no one else talked to you." 

Her name had been Annalise and she'd told Dean they should get married one day. He'd chewed the gum and didn't reply. 

"How do you know all that?" 

"You told me." The man's lips twitched. "You were somewhat inebriated at the time." 

"I wouldn't tell anyone about the gum." Dean had been embarrassed by the whole ordeal, the way she'd given it to him out of pity, the way he'd paid her back with affection and how she'd made it into something too big for him to hold onto. 

"Not now. Not for a long time. But one day." 

"What's your name?" 

The man paused, head tilting to one side, "Cas." 

"Cas." Dean repeated. "Just Cas?" 

"It was short for something else once. But I think you've forgotten that." 

"Is future me a jerk?" 

"Only when someone give him cause to be." Cas sounded amused. "It's late. You must be tired." 

"No. I'm fine." 

"I won't hurt you. I could keep watch for you." 

"No way." Dean growled, the rough way his Dad did when he was laying down the law. "Maybe I know you later, but I don't right now. " 

"We can talk then. I'll keep you company." 

"What would we talk about?" Dean asked cautiously. He had his knife after all and the sun had nearly finished setting. 

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" 

"Why do adults always ask that?" Dean snorted. "Anyway, you gotta already know what I'm going to be since you know me." 

"I'm curious. About what you wanted before..before you made your choices." 

"I wanted to be an ambulance driver." 

"Why?" 

"Dunno. Looked fun. You got to help people and stuff. But I don't want to anymore." 

"Why not?" 

"I want to do what my Dad does." 

"Be a hunter?" 

Dean just nodded, even though Cas probably couldn't see in in the dark. 

"Or a fire fighter." 

"You would make a very good one." Cas sounded sad and Dean's stomach clenched. If Cas knew about Annaliese, he probably knew about Mom too. "What about you?" 

"Hm?" 

"What'd you want to be when you got big?" 

"Oh." Cas lapsed into silence, then eventually said, "I suppose I wanted to be a soldier." 

"My Dad was a Marine. He liked it okay, I think. Are you a soldier?" 

"Sometimes." 

"Do you like it?" 

"No. Not anymore." 

"Why not?" 

"Because I'm tired of making the wrong decisions." Cas looked at the alter. "Tired of watching the people I care for suffer because of me." 

Sammy snuffled in this sleep, smacking his lips a few times and settling his head just under Dean's chin. Dean put the hand not around his knife to the back of Sammy's neck. 

"You have to protect your family." Dean said sternly. 

"You've already taught me that lesson." Cas' head tilted again. "But perhaps I've failed to learn it." 

"It's important. More important than anything." Dean nodded to himself, affirming this small philosophy. 

"More important than the rest of the world?" 

"The rest of the world is fire and bad guys and stuff. So, yeah. Family is better." 

"Family." Cas repeated. "Of course." 

They didn't say much else, but Cas stayed there in the other pew, quiet and watchful. Dean fought off sleep for as long as he could, but his body betrayed him eventually. He slept with one hand on his knife and the other holding Sammy close. 

He woke to a kiss on his forehead, scented with smoke and copper. John came in a few minutes later, all apologies and lifting a restless Sam free of the jacket. They had pancakes. 

And the memory was lost. 

But it came back. 

The bunker was quiet without Sam's page turning, coughing, hair flipping, eye rolling, sweating presence flopping all over the place. He was sitting just outside, still not able to get far on his own steam. The door was open, so he could shout if he needed help getting back in and the summer breeze filtered through the room. 

Dean tore his attention in two, half on research, half on Sam. Well. Maybe not clean down the middle. The research was boring and Sam was still on shaky colt legs that ripped at Dean every time they wobbled. 

"I can read that." Castiel held out his hands for the book. 

"I've got-" 

"Dean." Castiel said in that Castiel way. Dean gave him the book and walked out into the sun. 

Sam didn't say anything as Dean settled beside him. He went on picking at the wild flowers. 

"Seriously?" Dean picked up one end of the daisy chain. 

"Seriously." Sam grinned, stupid wide. It was like the sun coming out all over again, the way it spilled over Dean. All the comments he wanted to make shriveled in his mouth. 

They didn't say anything. Dean wished he brought out beer, it was a nice afternoon to sip at a cold one. He was about to get up when Sam yawned wide, showing off his stupidly white teeth. His broad shoulders slumped forward. 

"Falling asleep already?" Dean laughed. "Least get back into the house, man." 

"Ugh." Sam slumped sideways, draping himself over Dean's lap. 

Dean stared down at him. They didn't get close like this, not since Sam had outgrown Sammy like all his second hand clothes. But illness had robbed Sam of some essential propriety, peeling back years. Or maybe it had been Dean's speech in the church while Sam shook with confession or maybe it had been their whole damn lives, tearing them both down to raw nerves. 

Fuck it. If Sam wanted to sleep in Dean's lap like a drooling Labrador puppy, then so be it. Even if Dean was already losing feeling in his toes. He fell backwards into the grass, closing his eyes against the glare. When Sam began his wheezy snore, the one that always meant he was really asleep, Dean put his hand to the back of Sam's neck. 

"You should sleep as well." 

"You're supposed to be doing my homework for me." Dean grumbled. 

"I can read just as well here. Go to sleep, Dean." 

"No." He grumbled and then he did. 

He woke to a kiss just at his hairline. Sammy was still heavy in his lap. He'd turned at some point, his face mashed into Dean's thigh. Castiel knelt beside them. 

"You." Dean opened one eye. "You visited me, you sneak." 

"What?" Castiel blinked. 

"When you were still...you went back. Found me when I was a little kid. Like a total creeper." 

"That was a mistake." Castiel didn't seem flustered by the revelation. "I didn't think you remembered." 

"Guess I didn't until now. How was kid me?" 

"Much like you now." Castiel smile minutely. "More forthcoming perhaps." 

"Kids are like that, I guess." Dean shifted, trying not to wake Sam. "Why'd you let me see you? If it was an accident..." 

"You weren't speaking with me at the time. I...missed you, I believe. Though I don't think I would've called it that." 

Dean tried to figure out when he hadn't been speaking to Cas. Sometimes it felt like all he was trying to do was to get him to pay attention. Frantic prayer, desperate bargaining, cajoling conversations: listen to me, pay attention to me, help me for God's sake, please. 

"You can always talk to me, okay? Even if I'm being an ass or whatever. Just do it." 

"Okay." The word sounded wrong out of Cas' mouth. 

"Did you kiss me just now?" Dean blurted. 

"As I did then, yes." Castiel smile tightly. "Should I not have?" 

"No, I mean...no, it's cool. Little weird, I guess, but cool." 

"I was thinking that you always wake up to an alarm. To someone screaming or something terrible. It would be good to wake up to family, once in a while." 

"Uh, yeah." Dean's thumb ran a circle over Sam's shoulder, healthy warmth beneath his layers instead of fever. "It is." 

"Oh God, you're both disgusting." Sam groaned, rubbing his cheek cat like against Dean's thigh before rolling onto his back and nearly dislocating both of Dean's knees. "Don't do this in front of me." 

"Do what?" Dean scrubbed at his face, fully waking up. "Have a grown up conversation, you baby?" 

"Flirt." Sam picked up his ridiculous daisy chain and threw it at Dean's head. "Its really unsettling." 

"Shut it." Dean shook Sam off him. "Go get back to work. Leavin' me to do your job." 

"You weren't doing anything. Cas was doing my job apparently." Sam reached upwards, stretching until his elbows and neck cracked. "I'm hungry." 

"I'll make you a sandwich if you quit sounding like a bowl of Rice Crispies." 

"Can't help being stiff." Sam cracked his knuckles, wrinkling up Dean's nose. 

"I would also like a sandwich." 

"I'm not your kitchen bitch." 

But Dean made sandwiches anyway, thick ones with green crisp pickles on the side. He made Sam a milkshake to go with it, using strawberry to hide the taste of protein powder. His silent campaign to return Sam to fighting weight was slowly gaining ground. 

Sam and Cas hadn't actually gone back to work. They had the record player going, something soft and jazzy, part of the on going quest to figure out what kind of music Castiel liked. This wasn't it, going by the narrowed eyed stare at the player. 

"Turkey and swiss for the flower boy." Dean set the tray in front of Sam. "Chicken salad for Cas." 

"Shouldn't be slinging names when you're still wearing your crown there." Sam picked up his sandwich with a little brother smirk. 

"What?" Dean reached up and got a handful of petals for his trouble. 

"I think it looks charming." Castiel bit into his sandwich with a pleased noise. 

"Yeah, Dean. Charming." Sam's smirk deepened. 

"You both suck. I hope you choke on your whole wheat bread." 

Castiel set down his sandwich stood and got close in the way only Cas was allowed. 

"Dean." 

"What?" He tore off the ridiculous flower crown. 

"Thank you for lunch." 

Cas leaned in and kissed the corner of Dean's lips. 

"Oh." Dean blinked. 

Cas took a small step back, studying Dean's face then nodded once as if he'd found what he was looking for. Then he sat down and picked his sandwich back up. 

"Didn't you make something for yourself?" Sam said blandly. 

"Right. Yeah." Dean escaped back into the kitchen. He meant to sit down there and maybe eat by himself. 

But it was quiet in the kitchen. And it was getting dark with the sun going down. He watched the shadows slide through the thick glass, picked up his plate and went back to where his family was waiting.


End file.
